


Flowery Metaphors

by Meinleere



Category: Cars (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Gen, Oneshot, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-20
Updated: 2018-04-20
Packaged: 2019-04-25 08:24:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14374797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meinleere/pseuds/Meinleere
Summary: After a rough night, Fillmore decides to offer some comfort to his veteran friend and learns the nature of his struggles.  Humanised.





	Flowery Metaphors

**Author's Note:**

> AN: my first fanfic! let me know of any issues and if you liked it or not, and thank you so much for reading

Fillmore leant over the fence. His tanned arms crossed on the wooden panels and tangled hair drooping over his eyes. The sky was clear but the air was thick and humid- a storm was approaching. Hopefully like all storms out in the desert, it would be short-lived and He won’t have to deal with a leaking tent again. "If it did rain I’m sure someone wouldn’t mind me crashing at their place for the night" Fillmore thought. He turned his eyes down from the blue horizon towards the Base next door. Sarge was sitting outside on the front steps with a cigarette in hand, wearing an old singlet and battered shorts. Both Doc and Fillmore had reprimanded him about his habits but the old veteran brushed them off, claiming it helped keep him calm. Fillmore sighed, it had been a few weeks since he even saw a lighter in Sarge’s hand and was hopeful he was kicking the habit- but sadly last night was a point of relapse, Fillmore grimaced at the memory. He sighed “Hey man,” his tone soft “heard you thrashing around last night. Memories got to ya?” He hoped he sounded sincere, serious was never his forte. Sarge winced and stiffened, his face a mild grimace for a moment before he stood up. He dropped the Cigarette and crushed it under boot and approached the fence.

The contrast between their yards was noticeable. On Sarges side the lawn was trimmed neatly and soft green in colour, with a few bushes that were frequently pruned. Meanwhile Fillmore’s yard was overgrown with plants of all sorts, bugs buzzing here and there. The only consistency was the white picket fence between them. Sarge stopped in front of the fence and crossed his arms and frowned. Being shorter than Fillmore by a head made his mannerisms less threatening and rather adorable to the Hippie, while war in Fillmore’s mind was frankly dreadful and unnecessary he did feel an appreciation for Sarge having such faith in his practices. In fact he did have an appreciation for the veteran in general: his honour, his honestly, his nicely trimmed hair and moustache and muscles- Fillmore shooed the thought away, sure he thought the veteran was handsome but that was hardly important right now. Sarge seemed to scrutinise him, as if calculating exactly what Fillmore wanted as he leant on the fence.

“What does it matter to you private” he said, a hint of a growl edging his words. Fillmore smiled and stood upright, crossing his arms and mimicking Sarge’s position.

“You seem tense Sargent” Fillmore paused, “What happened last night man.” Fillmore’s tone faded from gruff to kind as he spoke. Sarge sighed and dropped his arms, leaning forward he folded them on the fence just as Fillmore had done before and hung his head.

“The scene just won’t stop repeating in my head.” His voice was a barely a rough whisper. “I was just doing my job, a good job mind you, but,” He looked up, his face showing nothing but exhaustion and defeat. “I could have waited or listened and yet I still chose to charge ahead.” He flicked his wrist for emphasis. “Right into a damned trap, an obvious stinking trap that should have killed us all and yet spared me and-“His face contorted and he dropped his hand. “-and took so many good men from their families. Even now I just know that their relatives have not forgiven me. Such a rookie mistake. I feel like im nothing much but a collection of mistakes.” His eyes had a faraway look to them and glistened with tears that Sarge would never shed out of pride. Fillmore bit his lip as sarge hung his head once again, a hand running through his cropped hair. He quietly withdrew from the fence and trotted towards a daisy bush that had sprung up at the base from the tent, some of the flowers were bright and fresh, while some other had wilted slightly or had some spots. Fillmore plucked on that had plenty of white and clear petals but a few damaged ones and returned to the fence. Sarge had looked up with a thick eyebrow raised in curiosity and focused on the daisy in hand. “What’s with the flower treehugger?” he said, his voice thick with the tears he choked back.

Fillmore smiled and held the daisy to the veterans face. “Hey man, See this flower? It’s pretty healthy, nice white petals with a green stem.” Sarge glared at Fillmore, he knew his flowers well enough but couldn’t tell what he was going on about. “It’s almost without issue, except for these few petals.” He pointed to a small collection of petals that had withered and developed brown spots.

“Private what are you-”

Sarge began but Fillmore cut him off. “It’s like you.” Sarge blinked. “You’re almost perfect, even pretty, but you’ve made mistakes,” Fillmore’s smile grew. “But that doesn’t change who you are, you’re still someone great despite those mistakes.” He stretched his hand forth towards Sarge, flower in palm. Sarge took it and twirled the stem between his fingers, eyebrows furrowed and lips thin, almost hidden by his moustache. Fillmore held his breath and thought "Please, please understand the metaphor, you old man." As the silence continued he thought that something was deeply wrong, then the sergeant looked up.

“Come here.” Sarge stood, reached over the fence and grabbed Fillmore, pulling him into a hug. Fillmore breathed a silent sigh of happiness and returned the hug, such affectionate actions were rare and Fillmore was not going to pass up the chance for one from the strict man. They stood there for some time and when they broke apart Sarge quickly wiped a tear away and straightened his posture, chin raised in pride. “Thanks Fillmore. It won’t stop the nightmare but,” He looked at the flower in hand. “At least it’ll smell nice, and add a natural look to my room.” His lip twitched and Fillmore knew that Sarge had understood him. Relief flooded his system and they stood there in silence. Sarge nodded to himself and turned away, “I have a group coming in a few days and need to prepare for them.” He said, casting a glance back at the hippe. “Dismissed private.” And with that he returned to his home and disappeared inside.

That night there was no shouting from the Base, and Fillmore was glad.


End file.
